


ink'd

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Punk, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'here to serve Dean Winchester' is what appears in ink on Castiel's skin, and he has no other choice but to obey. No matter how much he hates Dean, he must complete his mission, and he must never, ever, reveal that he is an angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the beginning of it all

**Author's Note:**

> ugh, I'm so sorry for crappy first chapter, we'll get this going soon enough though!
> 
> I'll post the next chapter as soon as i can, my schedule is super tight atm! x

The year is 2687. The world is dark and he air hard to breathe, but no one notices, because they are so used to it.  
The cities have become so huge and crowded that more than three quarters of the human race lives deep down, hidden by the skyscrapers and the smog. The rich live in paradise, their money constantly battling it out to stay on top, whilst the middle class lives in small apartments that freeze and hardly anything works properly.  


These conditions harden people, and trust isn't gained easily.  


In these dark streets live two boys, they are in their twenties, and all they have is each other. Their parents are both dead, long ago when the older brother was barely a teen and the younger brother still a little boy. 

Dean Winchester is 26, a mechanic and a bitter young man. He doesn't trust easily, and he toys with everyone, lying and manipulating if it is to his advantage. 

He is also a beautiful man, very popular with the ladies, and the men as well. Ever since he was seventeen he had done what he could to keep him and Sammy alive, and so he sold his body to anyone desperate for a lay. With his looks, it wasn’t very hard to get money, but it tore on him, and it was one of the major reasons behind his cold and bitter personality. 

When he finished in the garage every day at five, he spent the rest of the night at a local bar. He was well known around there, the perky young man with the cold exterior, and it wasn’t long until someone showed up and offered him money. 

He always carried a knife, and he kept one hand in his pocket, clutching the knife in case someone came and threatened him or harmed him, which had happened. If he refused their offer because it was too little, they could become furious and attack him. No one came to help him, no one dared. 

The sex itself wasn’t much to brag about. He would follow them outside and most of the time he would be pushed up against a wall and it was soon over. No one ever actually bothered to treat him. 

Once or twice had it occurred that their hands had sneaked around his throat and tightened, and it had even happened that they would beat him up and steal whatever he had on him. 

With the way the world revolved, was it really any surprise that Dean was so bitter?

\---

Far away from all of this, in a remote valley where no one comes anymore, Castiel awakens, his limbs stiff and aching, but that soon wears off. The giant body moves slowly, faltering as he gets up, his bones cracking as he stretches to his full height.  
His hollow eyes scanned his surroundings. It was disappointing, he had been told the earth was beautiful and green and full of life, but everything in front of him was gray and dead.  
He turned his eyes to the sky, awaiting the orders that have brought him here. This was his first mission on earth, and whatever it was, he had to do it. There was no backing out, he had to complete it.

As the orders came to him and he knew what his objective was, he started walking, every step shaking the ground like a small earthquake.

\---

Dean came home at three in the morning. He was tired, his legs were weak and his ass was sore. Tonight was a bad night. He had been paid and he was pulled into one of the dark alleys, but there had several guys waited, and they had beat him up, stolen his money and all of them had their way with him.  
He made his way to the sofa, every step sending a painful sting up his spine, and he dropped down onto the hard cushions. Bad idea, he thought with a groan and clenched his jaw.

He rolled onto his stomach and tried to be as comfortable as he could with the little space he had, and sighed.  
The smell of old fabric filled his lungs; his nose was pressed into the sofa cushions and he was too weak to do anything about it.

‘This fucking place,’ he muttered as he moved uncomfortably.

Once more was he going to have to lie to Sam. Tell him he had been in a bar fight, no biggie. Sam didn't know about the sex thing, and he wasn't going to find out.  
Sam was a smart kid, he was too god for all of this. Every penny Dean got went to Sam, to make sure Sam could get an education, get a good life.  
As far as Dean cared, he would sell his soul for money, as long as that boy got away from this dump. 

Dean’s eyes became heavy, and he quickly dozed off to sleep, soft snores escaping his bruised lips.


	2. the narrow streets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, a bit longer chapter, I'm okay with it.
> 
> hope you guys like it so far!
> 
> x

Sam was always early up in the morning, he made an edible breakfast out of the little they had, and woke Dean up when it was ready.

Dean woke up of the noise Sam was making in the little kitchen that was connected to the living room, his entire body hurting, and his head aching, not to mention his ass.  
He didn’t get up, he just stared at the empty wall where a television used to stand, but they were forced to sell it to survive. 

Sam came over to the sofa and placed a plate on the table. It was something that looked like eggs, but that was a rare dish to get anymore, it didn’t smell of much, nor did it have a distinct taste, so Sam had taken the salt and pepper with him, because he knew they needed it to get the food down.

“So how’d it happen?” Sam asked, sitting on the table, his eyes revealing that he was judging Dean, but he was also worried.

“Ugh,” Dean forced himself up with a grimace, he bit down the pain and sat in a strange position, one that made the pain bearable. He grabbed the plate and the pepper, covering the dish with it, and shoving it in his mouth trying not to think about the consistence of the mushy food. 

“Dean,” Sam said, expecting an answer. He looked at him with strict eyes, his hair tangled and hanging in front of them.

“Bar fight,” Dean said simply, getting up and grabbing a beer. It was one of the few things that were cheap, heck; it was almost free of charge, because it was made in such large quantities.

“Fine, you won’t tell me,” Sam said and kept eating. “Did you feel the earthquakes last night?”

“What?” Dean turned to Sam, leaning against the fridge. Earthquakes? He hadn’t felt anything, he’d slept all night.

“I woke up because of them. They were very light, but strong enough to make stuff fall over and shake the ground. You didn’t feel them?” Sam took the plates and put them into the sink.

“Nope, didn’t feel a damn thing,” Dean shrugged. 

“Well, they’ve stopped now, so whatever.” Sam went to his room. “You need to clean yourself up dude!” he shouted.

“Yeah whatever,” Dean just muttered and carried on drinking.

“Don’t you have work today?” Sam said as he walked into the living room again, backpack in hand. He had a job too, bartending in a club high from the ground. Dean didn’t know much about it, other than it was run by some powerful people, and Sam wasn’t allowed to tell anything that happened there. It was probably some strip joint.

“Yeah yeah, get off my back,” Dean went into the bathroom. He looked into the broken mirror and examined his face. He had stubble, but he didn’t feel like doing anything about it. His left eye was swollen and dark, a cut right below his eyebrow, a few bruises on his cheeks and lips, a little bit of blood and some dirt from having his face pushed into the ground.

He wiped his face with some paper towels, and cleaned the cut as carefully as he could, removing anything dirty that could infect it, and let it be.

He didn’t really have to go to work; there was hardly ever anything to do. His boss was an old drunk; he never noticed if he was there or not. Robert Singer was a good man, but the first priority in his life was the booze. 

Dean sighed and left the apartment locked the door and walked to the garage.

\---

Castiel had realized that his footsteps were so loud that people were noticing them, even from far away. He knew that he needed to find a vessel, so he scanned the city for a possible body.  
He found one in a man called Jimmy Novak. A drug addicted, God fearing man, with tattoos on his body, rings in his ears and half of his hair shaven of. 

So Castiel entered the city in a human body, much less noticeable than his true form. People actually ignored him, avoided him. Castiel could see it in their eyes, the fear. He didn’t care though; he had only one thing in mind. One thing that had etched into his skin in ink to remind him, right below his heart, in Enochian was written ‘serve Dean Winchester.’ And that was just what he was going to do.

The city was crowded and narrow, no light breaking through the tall skyscrapers above, and the air was moist. The people looked like shit, and there was nothing holy about this place.  
On every corner was a bar, people were lying on the streets completely wasted, people were fornicating behind a building and there was no shame. This was truly not the earth Castiel had heard about as a fledgling.

He found the place he knew Dean Winchester would be at. It was an old ramshackle place with a broken sign on the front, reading ‘Singers garage’ with big faded red letters.

The garage door was open, and an old black car stood there, surrounded by various tools and empty bottles of beer.

Castiel looked around at all these things, it was all so new to him, the touch of cold metal against his skin, he was almost tempted to put the tool to his tongue to taste it, but he got interrupted as an old man came stumbling out of a door. He reeked of old alcohol and sweat, and his eyes were glazed and unfocused.

“Can I help you son?” he mumbled from under his beard, taking hold of a nearby piece of machinery so he wouldn’t lose his footing.

“Yes,” Castiel replied, putting the tool down and turning his attention at the man. “ I am looking for Dean Winchester.”

The man stood quietly for a moment as if to understand what he had said, “sure thing sonny, I’ll go get him.  
I’m Bobby by the wa- y” He hiccupped. He didn’t go get anyone, he simply leaned back and put all his might into shouting Deans name and then looking at Castiel again.

“What?” Dean’s voice was muffled, and he appeared from under the old car in the workshop. He stood up and wiped his forehead, his dirty hands leaving a trail of black on his already dirty forehead. He was sweaty, and Castiel took in the smell with fascination, only to be left with disgust.

Castiel scanned Dean’s face. His skin was tan under the dirt and sweat, his eyes intense and beautifully green, like the grass Castiel had imagined covered the earth. His lips were beautifully shaped, full and plump, like the ocean waves he had dreamt of. There was a sad drag around the corners of his mouth, revealing that there was more to this man than his exceptional exterior told. 

“This man is looking for you,” Bobby licked his lips muttered something about going to fetch some more beer.  
Dean’s eyes shifted to Castiel’s, his eyebrows furrowed. Castiel noted the two rings Dean had in each of his ears, the uncombed hair that stuck up on his head and the short hairs that were growing on his jaw and chin.

“Can I help you?” He asked without emotion, crossing his arms. 

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel tried a smile, now was the time to become his friend. “I have been looking for you.”

“Why?” Dean stepped back, his lips squeezing shut and becoming pale white. His heart was beating faster, Castiel could hear it.

“I am here to become close to you, I need to.” Castiel tried. He admitted that was not the best approach, but it would have to do. He hadn’t revealed who he truly was, so it was all good.

“Look, if this is about the sex,” Dean said with a low voice, his eyes widening, “you have to leave. If you want to, you can meet me at Raphael’s tonight, from five o’clock and out.”

Castiel didn’t know how to respond, and he couldn’t, because Dean had pushed him out the door and was returning to the car.

Castiel watched him walk away. He was starting to become curious about this man and his intense and secretive eyes.


End file.
